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The scent of the sea-salt air permeated Daniel Rand's senses, coupled with the roar of a stream of foul watery sewage pouring into the Gulf of Mexico. He felt a burning sensation in his eyes, causing him to cringe due to the unanticipated sunlight, which then quickly dissipated. Daniel untied his mask, taking it off and placing it in one of his pouches, before he leaped from the sewer pipe, twisting his body in such a way so he wouldn't land in the filthy patch of water below. Having been informed by Nick Fury that the Submarine was located deep in the Gulf, finding the submersible was obviously the Strike Team's first test.

Daniel peered down into the infinite blue, his enhanced senses spotting the blurry silhouette of the Submarine laying far below like an ancient sleeping leviathan. Having seen no alternative, Daniel realised he would have to swim his way down without any SCUBA gear. Shouldn't be too hard for the Iron Fist of K'un-Lun. Plunging headfirst in the water, Daniel kicked straight down towards the submarine, disregarding the burning of sea-salt, searching for warmer waters. Finally he detected the lukewarm metal of the submarine's hatch, his hands brushing against it until he felt a sharp pain on his finger, the submarine's security system puncturing it to scan his blood. He hoped to himself that there was no hungry sharks in the area.

With the hatch unlocked and his identity confirmed, Daniel swam into the sealed airlock, followed by gallons of rapid saltwater. Daniel closed the hatch firmly, stopping any more water from rushing in the cramped room. Before he could be overwhelmed entirely, the water drained away almost at once, but before he could move on into the next room, a blast of hot air unexpectedly filled the area, the heat immediately drying him.

Daniel Rand made his way down the ladder, eventually coming down into a dim corridor. Daniel took a deep breath as he felt the intense warmth of his Chi spreading downwards from his arm to his hand. Suddenly the entirety of his fist burst into a yellow 'flame', illuminating the dark metal walls surrounding him. Having just went through the sewers of Mexico, his eyes had already adjusted, but he still activated his Chi, not for illumination, but rather as a precaution. "Nice Night-light." announced the blonde, female S.H.I.E.L.D agent, who was waiting for Danny at the end of the corridor. "You probably want to put that out by the way, there's no smoking allowed on board." she continued "It's not actual fire, you know." Danny replied as he followed her advice, snuffing out the yellow energy, leaving them in darkness once again. "Tell that to the Captain." she said with a sly smile, almost as if it was an inside joke among the crew, as they descended down into Control.

"You're the first one here, by the way." she stated, her voicing echoing up and down the small, metallic staircase. "We assumed the others would have already rendezvoused here by now." she went on. Danny detected a small hint of disappointment in her voice, as if she was almost excited for what was about to happen. "Why, Agent. You almost sound dismayed." he declared. "No, it's not that." she laughed "It's the whole supply crate thing, you know." Daniel expressed his confusion as the Agent spoke again "Actually, never mind, you'll find out later, Mr. Rand."

Walking in the cramped, busy Control Room, Daniel scanned the various S.H.I.E.L.D agents at their consoles, expertly running the submerged 7800 ton Submarine, that himself and the rest of the Thunderbolts will come to call their home. "Captain Corbett." saluted the Agent, addressing the tall, middle aged man at the helm. Captain Corbett ordered her to be at ease as he eyed Danny. "Thank you, Agent Morse. You may go now" he instructed with a smile.
"Hey, wait. Do I know you?" asked Danny as Agent Morse took her leave to attend her other duties.
"Unless you unironically dress in purple and shoot arrows, then no." she stated with a simper before leaving the Control Room. Daniel couldn't help the small smirk that formed on his face at the woman's cheek. Turning around, he purposely left the control room, getting directions from a passing engineer as to the location and number of his cabin. It only took a few seconds to find it; all of the rooms looked the same, other than the large, emblazoned numbers on the doors. His Number was 1-A. He entered the room, sitting down and untying the bandages wrapped around his hands. Daniel was about to began meditation in preparation for whatever was coming their way, when he was cut off by a mechanical voice, coming through the speakers.

"Briefing in 30 minutes. I repeat, Briefing in 30 minutes."

'Spider-Man, Spider-Man, does whatever a Spider can-'

The MP3 earbuds were abruptly torn from his ears by the opposing gangster. Peter didn't even bother with using his reflexes to dodge the hit - the hit that had been coming towards his face at a speed reminiscent to that of a disabled slug. He hated the song, anyways - what sort of old man somehow managed to have a bunch of girls write this shit? Furthermore, why did they even write it when he left the whole 'Super-Hero' scene only a while after arriving? It was confusing...but he had other problems to deal with right now. Not much of a problem, but sort of a problem. When Fury had given him the assignment to join the 'Thunderbolts', he had been surprised and quite a bit hesitant...and yet he agreed without a second thought. Regular assassinations in SHIELD was beginning to get boring, especially since he hardly ever gotten a partner that was worth his or her salts, which often ended with him having to solo the entire mission himself. Once more, not a problem, but for the month to week-long missions, it was a really annoying thing. Now, he was headed towards the under-water submarine base, dressed in his 'civilian' attire...just regular jeans, sneakers, and a dark crimson hoodie. He had been taking the alley-ways, for a quick access to the sewers - where, there, he could just take the sewer passage into the Gulf of Mexico - but that hadn't worked out. Not with this clown.

"You not takin' me seriously?!" Oh, how he hated Louisiana. He came all the way to this state just to use their interesting sewer system, and this is how they paid him? He didn't even bother responding; a flick of the finger, and the thug found himself embedded into the alley's wall, head bursted like a grape. Peter spared the body one brief glance before continuing his walking through the dingy alley-ways. The sewer grate was located underneath a dumpster, and after a quick kick to send it skidding across the ground, Peter stomped down on the metal grate, sending it bending into the sewers, with him following after it. "Heh, this works." He murmured to himself as his feet automatically adjusted on the bent metal, landing in the disgusting sewer water with only a minor splash - minor footwork easily allowed him to dodge the nasty droplets of water.

Spraying two thick cords of web on both sides of the sewer walls, Peter grabbed hold of the strands, before taking a deep breath and moving himself and his sewer-grate-board backwards in the water. Exhaling, he tugged viciously, allowing himself to let out a chuckle of mirth as his superhuman strength blasted him and the 'skate-board' blasting into the long, maze-like sewer tunnels, skidding along the water at a speed that no human would accurately be able to track. Crouching on the sewer-grate, Peter smirked, grabbing the edges as a drop approached. Just as he and the grate was about to fall, he leaped with the grate, sailing through the air from the speed and power of the jump. The air was stale and stinky, but the adrenaline was fun.

As he grinded along the concrete walls and railings on his sewer-board, Peter could hear the sound of rushing water, along with the smell of fresh sea-salt and seagull droppings. Sure enough, within a few minutes he and his board was flying through the air, like the constant pourage of sewer water into the Gulf of Mexico. Eyes easily adjusting to the sudden exposure to fresh sunlight, Peter dropped the grate and flipped mid-air, sharp eyes immediately pinpointing the best place to land - there. With the grace of a master acrobat, Peter landed, in a crouch, on a sturdy piece of drift-wood. Sitting so that his legs were in the water, he pulled up his jeans, to around knee-level, before rapidly kicking and kicking with his feet, legs instantly becoming a blur, while he and the drift-wood began to blast through the water like a jetski. The submarine, Fury had told him, was flat-out deep underwater, in the Gulf of Mexico - it was a test of skill and creativity to find and get to it. Heh...he was Spider-Man. Nothing was too difficult for him, with a bit of hard-work.

Eventually, he found it - the water currents were warmer around this area, and if one shoved their head underwater and looked down, ignoring the sting of sea-salt, they would see an incredibly large shadow farther in the water. Leaping dozens of feet into the air, off of his drift-wood, Peter flipped upside-down and formed a sharp stick with his lean figure - within seconds he pierced the ocean's surface like a high-caliber sniper round, feet kicking bubbles upwards as he began to use his full-speed under-water. He reached the hatch, lazily flipping through the water as a self-defense underwater-laser blasted from the hatch's handle and sent steam flying high. Clicking the hatch once, he allowed it to prick his finger and absorb some of his blood, before opening the now unlocked hatch and falling into the air-pocket, feeling the dry, crisp air of the submarine flash sudden heat across his form, instantly drying him.

"Useful." Peter observed, walking away from the upper hatch entrance and heading down a metal staircase. A few people milled about - mostly scientists whom gave him confused looks, but since he was in his civilian attire, Peter only gave them raised eyebrows of his own. His cabin was Cabin 3-A...3-A...3-A. He already had an underling send for his stuff, since taking it with him would've been a chore, so his costume and equipment should have been in...Yep. He opened his cabin's door, locking it behind him as he kicked off his clothing. The room was small, quaint, and bare...just how he liked it. Folded neatly was his costume, with a crimson duffel-bag sitting beside it, on his cot. Peter cracked his neck, before approaching the lightly armored outfit. "Baby, how I missed you." His voice, cool and calm, broke the silence of the room, as he began to get dressed.

"Briefing in 25 minutes. I repeat, Briefing in 25 minutes."

Well then.

Eric stared down into the dark blue of the oceanic abyss. He leaned on a railing and tried to think of any way he could get to the submarine without getting wet. He soon realized such a way didn't exist. He cursed, Nick Fury, the eye-patched David Hasslehoff looking twat. He knew Eric hated getting his clothes wet and especially hated getting his hair wet. But there was no other option. It was either that or get forced into jail time.

Eric let out a sigh, it wasn't just the thought of getting wet, he'd also have to find a position where he couldn't be seen by a large number of people. It took around 20 minutes to walk around the Gulf and find a location where practically no one was around. Eric took the liberty of getting a few supplies before he dived down, which included and was only limited to beer. He drank a few bottles before stuffing the rest into a waterproof bag he'd bought on Amazon a few days before. Nick had told him they'd bring all his stuff on board for him, but he didn't exactly trust the folks at S.H.I.E.L.D to not go through every inch of his things and only gave them the bare minimum.

Finally it was time to find the sub and dive down to meet his new 'team'. He slung the backpack over his shoulder, his leather jacket creaking with the movement. He swam out to sea for a while before diving under, scanning the water after taking off his sunglasses. Eventually he spotted it, a big stupid black spot in the shape of a submarine. The Fantastic Four get a tower, the X-Men get a school and what does the famed vampire hunter, Blade get? A fucking submarine in the middle of the gulf of Mexico. This made him fear the rest of his teammates were just no-skill scrubs he'd been put with as punishment for all that unlicensed vampire hunting he'd been doing. Who knew you'd need a license for vampire hunting of all things, you'd expect it'd just be something you did rather than applied for.

He swam down to the submarine, his enhanced eyesight greatly helping him spot it from far away. He felt a small pinch on his thumb as he opened the hatch. It must have been some sort of security system, making sure it knew who was coming in. This begged the question how S.H.I.E.L.D had gotten a hold of Eric's blood, and why they had it. He fell into the airlock, the water that had fallen in with him draining away through some concealed compartment. He was hit by a wave of heat as he took out his sunglasses again and put them back on. The bright lights were hurting his eyes to a degree. He was dried quite quickly, still, no excuse for making him get wet in the first place. He scoped out the submarine for a while, trying to find his room. He was in room 4-A, no doubt an omen signalling the 4 assholes he'd have to work with. He eventually found it and set his bag down on the bed as he got in. The room was small and cramped, like being a rat trapped in a box. S.H.I.E.L.D probably had a camera in there as well, same with the showers most likely. But who could blame them, if Eric was anyone, but himself he'd want to get a look at himself in the shower as well, if that makes sense. At least it had a TV, bad reception and all. He'd have to sign off for a DVD player at the very least, he thought checking the sides of the TV to see if it had one built in. It didn't. A monotone voice broke the silence within the cabin.
"Briefing in 25 minutes. I repeat, Briefing in 25 minutes."
He sighed, taking out a deck of cards and starting to play solitaire on the small desk in the corner.

Scott hated crowds. Like, really hated them. They were easily in the top three things he hated, and only preceded by James Howlett and small metal tubes that tended to get everyone inside them killed if they happened to be ruptured by, oh, say... uncontrollable eye beams of instant obliteration. Or something of that nature. So when he'd received the details of the meeting place and the group's HQ, it would have been an understatement to say he was less than thrilled. A submarine floating in the ocean just off a public beach. The only way this could get worse was if Wolverine showed up. What were they even thinking with a submarine? At least if it was an airplane he'd still have his powers to help slow his fall, but in a submarine you were pretty much done as soon as the hull snapped in two. Which it was definitely bound to do at some point, given the team of former supervillains he'd been told he'd be working with. Stick a bunch of psychopaths in a big metal tube under the ocean. Whose brilliant idea was that?

Then again, it would be a great way to thin the herd if they got out of hand. Maybe the selection of locale was more intelligent than he gave it credit for, though it still brought to mind the theme of a certain graphic novel turned film adaptation.

Either way, he was here now and he wasn't going back. He watched several figures along the shoreline arrive and plunge into the sea as he finished checking his tank, then fitted the mouthpiece and dropped over the side of his almost pitiably small boat. It had been big enough for his purposes, but was still so small it would likely be lost in the surf once the waves grew choppy. He'd only needed it the once though, so he wasn't going to be put out by its loss.

He'd foregone the goggles normally used by scuba divers, instead relying on a much lesser known aspect of his vision-based abilities. Ever so slightly, he lessened the psionic barrier between this realm and the one his power originated from, and his eyes took on a decidedly menacing hue of glowing crimson. The world before him turned to shades of red, but his gaze cut through the murk as easily as its full power could slice through a steel I-beam, illuminating the surrounding waters for him while the only thing others would see is two faintly glowing red spots, and that only if their eyes were exceptionally keen. Night vision of a sort, though a sort that only he could perceive at such a low intensity.

When he reached the sub, he was unsurprised to discover that they'd taken the precaution of installing biometric security, and equally unsurprised that his DNA was already in the system. When SHIELD really wanted something, there were no lengths they wouldn't go to in order to get it.

Once inside, he began divesting himself of the scuba gear as the hot air dried his wetsuit, which was actually his armored body glove, then dropped the gear next to the airlock door as he left and made his way to his quarters, room 7-A. Inside, he found the rest of his usual kit and stripped out of the body glove, replacing it with sweatpants and a white t-shirt. A voice came over the intercom informing him that it would be 20 minutes until the briefing, so he set about looking over his weapons and armor while he waited, just to make sure none of it had been tampered with after SHIELD got their grubby hands on it.

Batroc sat in the Submarine. Bored out of his mind. It's kinda hard to be the "Leaper" in a place where you can't leap. He picked up a book he had been reading on the history of savate, his preferred style of fighting. He started reading the book before he threw it up in the air and kicked it to a wall. Damn Fury and his Damn missions!

"Briefing in 20 minutes. I repeat, Briefing in 20 minutes."

"Rahhhhhh!" he screamed, aggravated. "Brûle en l’enfer Fury! Merde Merde Merde!" He left his room and stormed down the hall, passing the A rooms. "Yeah, A Rooms. A stands for Assholes."

He made his way to the briefing room and sat down by the briefing table.

Only a mile away in an undetectable submarine, lays a team of HYDRA Agents and The Red Skull.

All of them are at their posts, and The Red Skull sits atop a commander’s chair. One Agent sitting by a radar speaks up. “Sir, we have detected a S.H.I.E.L.D sub. Should we fire?”

Red Skull smiles. “That must be Fury’s precious “Thuderbolts” team he stole from Zemo. Yes, shoot them with a Super Torpedoes.”

“But Sir, one is Supposed to destroy a small island.”

“I know.”

The End